


Comfort

by ScribbleWillow (Soul_in_the_Starlight)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Lactation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soul_in_the_Starlight/pseuds/ScribbleWillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor knows how to make her feel better...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this as a fill for the Eleventh Doctor kink meme on Livejournal, for this prompt:
> 
> Eleven/Amy, lactation
> 
> She's producing milk (weird alien plant? weird alien ray gun? weird alien knocked her up?) and he's dying for a taste, so she lets him suckle.

The Doctor held the vial up to the light and swirled the dark green liquid around.  
  
"Amy, do you know what a galactologue is?"  
  
Amy clutched her chest miserably, shaking her head.  
  
The Doctor looked round at her with a sympathetic smile.  
  
"Well, it's a substance that promotes and increases lactation, and you," he held up the now empty bottle, it's last few drops still swirling in the vial, "have drunk enough to make even _me_ start producing. Well, not _actual_ me, I'm not human; but a man I mean. Although I am a man, I hope..." he drifted off, scrutenising the liquid once more.  
  
Amy's eyes couldn't get any wider. She clutched her breasts, the dark wet stains in her top increasing in size as her hands applied the pressure.  
  
"I was thirsty! _You_ told me not to drink the water! How was I to know? You'd wandered off, like you _always_ do. There were other people drinking it, I thought it was just fruit juice..."  
  
The Doctor looked across at her, he was chewing on his bottom lip in that way that meant he was about to break some bad news.  
  
"It was a fertility festival. Did you not notice how many people were pregnant?"  
  
Amy threw his one her looks. The withering kind.  
  
"I just wanted a drink. And _now_ look at me!"  
  
She removed her hands from her chest, and the wet stains increased in length, until the milk began to drip from the hem of her top.  
  
"You should probably take that off, and let me examine you." The Doctor placed the vial and bottle on the table and approached Amy, who was not impressed.  
  
"You want me to take my top off? Are you mad?" she clutched her aching breasts again, and sat back on the couch in a huff.  
  
"I'm not being funny, Amy, I'm not just _the_ Doctor, I'm _a_ doctor. So if you want to slip off your top and bra..." he rubbed his hands, warming them. And as much as it pained Amy, she felt she had little choice; she had Niagara Falls running out of her chest, and she wanted it to stop.

  
"So you can stop it then?"  
  
She grabbed the bottom of her top and drew it carefully over her head so the sticky fluid didn't wet her hair. She reached behind herself to undo her bra, but the stretching movement caused a stab of pain in each engorged breast. The Doctor smiled sympathetically, and before she had time to protest, reached behind her and undid the hooks, carefully easing it down over her shoulders.  
  
"Well, I can certainly try," he drew the bra down over her arms and hands, dropping it onto her wet top.  
  
Amy didn't feel as mortified as she thought she would, but then her breasts didn't really feel like they were hers right now. They felt like rocks; big, solid, leaking rocks.  
  
"So what do we do?" she asked, her voice small and helpless.  
  
The Doctor turned away, and grabbed a swivel chair from the beside the table behind them. He wheeled it in front of Amy, and sat himself down, his face now level with her breasts.  
  
"Well, we need to relive the discomfort first, and then I can work on an antidote." He reached up with both hands, and Amy closed her eyes, the sight of him touching her breasts was just a bit much.  
  
"Amy, please don't take this suggestion as anything other than a scientific proposition, but do you mind if I taste it?"  
  
Amy's eyes flew open in shock.  
  
" _What_? What do you mean?"  
  
The Doctor was leaning forward, hie eyes roaming carefully over her right nipple.  
  
"I mean, you can try and squeeze it all out by hand, but that would be painful and take a long time. Or, I can suck it from you myself."  
  
He looked up at her, and his expression was completely earnest, no hints of anything kinky or perverse in his eyes. He just looked at her kindly.  
  
Amy bit her lower lip, the ache was just getting more painful, and the milk was still dribbling from her nipples at an alarming pace.  
  
"Yes. OK. If that's the quickest way..."  
  
She felt a bit shy suddenly, and closed her eyes again, thrusting her chest forward slightly.  
  
"I've drunk a lot of odd things in my time, Amy, but human milk isn't one of them. So thank you for letting me try it."  
  
His breath was warm against her breasts, and she squeezed her eyes shut more tightly as she mentally braced herself.  
  
His right hand went to her left hip to steady them both, and his left hand gently cupped her right breast as his mouth fastened over it. Amy gasped, at first in shock, and then in pleasure, as he began a gentle motion with his tongue and jaw, the let-down reflex kicking in fiercely, and she felt the milk pouring out of her left breast and running down her belly as his mouth worked softly over her.  
  
He suckled her right breast for a few minutes, and then switched to the left, and Amy moaned with relief as the engorgement started to subside. She could hear him swallowing, and lifted her arms, which had been rigid at her sides, draping them gently around his neck and shoulders. She opened her eyes now, and looked down, seeing the mass of dark shiny hair, his full lips now back on her right breast, which had shrunk back now to something more approaching it's natural size.  
  
It was soothing and intimate, and Amy felt almost serene, like some kind of renaissance painting; her Titian tresses falling about her pale smooth shoulders as he drank from her, clinging to her, their roles reversed.  
  
Amy held him closer as his tongue now began delicately swirling around each nipple, the initial chaste act beginning to give way to something more needy. She moaned softly as the sensations in her breasts began to creep down towards her belly, and when he finally lifted his eyes to her, seeking her permission, she lay back on the couch, his lips on hers.


End file.
